


Rings to Match

by starrynoctsky (lightinthehall)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Episode Ignis Verse 2, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightinthehall/pseuds/starrynoctsky
Summary: He catalogues the details of his surroundings in careful order. The peaceful silence, a familiar musk. His mind makes note of the arm flung over his waist and the accompanying warmth of the body lying next to him. His senses catch on, honing onto the smooth, perfect curve of a ring resting upon his finger.Husband, Ignis’ pleased, hazy mind concludes as he combs his hand through silky, black strands, revealing the slumbering profile of his king.(Written for the Ignoct Gift Exchange: Ignis and Noctis navigate the consequences of an overturned prophecy, and the unexpected challenges of Ignis' new role as prince consort. +++romantic fluff)
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 10
Kudos: 111
Collections: Ignoct New Years Gift Exchange 2020





	Rings to Match

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akuroitenshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akuroitenshi/gifts).



> Happy new year to my lovely giftee akuroitenshi!  
>   
> I hope you enjoy <3

Ignis opens his sleep-heavy eyes, peering into the darkness of the room. It takes a moment for him to remember this place, the thick, black curtains dressing the wide windows, the smooth satin of the sheets against his skin.

He catalogues the details of his surroundings in careful order. The peaceful silence, a familiar musk. His mind makes note of the arm flung over his waist and the accompanying warmth of the body lying next to him. His senses catch on, honing onto the smooth, perfect curve of a ring resting upon his finger.

_Husband_ , Ignis’ pleased, hazy mind concludes as he combs his hand through silky, black strands, revealing the slumbering profile of his king. After ten years of a long, treacherous, daemon-filled night, waking up slowly is a luxury, and doing so with the man he loves is a _wonder._

A chronic cuddler since his youth, Noctis burrows closer, tightening his hold around Ignis’ waist, pressing the cool metal of his matching ring upon the curve of Ignis’ back. They lay together as a matched pair, a complete circuit, Ignis smiling as he imagines the serene expression upon Noct’s face.

Even as a troubled child, Noctis has always looked innocent and peaceful in his sleep.

Faint slips of light have begun to filter through the dark curtains. In another time, he’d already be out of bed, getting a head start on the day’s itinerary. Now, he won’t be tempted into surrendering this view for anything short of a royal command.

The beams of sunlight slowly sneak over their sheets until finally, Noctis’ measured, slow breaths fall into a sigh; the dawn king stirs within Ignis’ arms, resigning himself to the waking world. Ignis watches every twitch and flutter of Noct’s eyelashes with fondness, embarrassingly eager to be the first to greet him.

“Good morning.”

“Morn – nnnnng,” comes the ever graceful, yawning response. Ignis shakes his head in mock affront, but it’s quickly forgotten when Noctis darts up to steal a kiss, leading them into a familiar game of catch and chase. The next few minutes are lost to teasing touches, heated kisses, while Noctis hasn’t even fully opened his eyes yet. Though Ignis doesn’t mind. It’s his humble duty to wake Lucis’ king, and he will ensure his responsibility is carried out as thoroughly as possible.

“Definitely a good morning,” Noctis hums.

Ignis smothers Noct’s amusement with another lingering press of his lips, coaxing his mouth open as he guides him onto his back. Noctis groans as they reach for each other, fingers intertwining as they explore with tongue and teeth. Their clothes are still strewn about the bedroom floor – Ignis had been far too distracted last night to even think of picking up after himself.

In the light of dawn, Noctis’ pale skin contrasts beautifully with the black sheets. It’s as bewitching as the steady thump of his heartbeat when Ignis presses his palm above the jagged stretches of scars littering Noct’s chest.

His own heart skips, echoing that happy, lively rhythm. This is _everything_.

“This is really real, huh?” Noctis asks, a fragile gleam present in his ocean-blue eyes. His tone may be light, but Ignis knows the question is important.

“Really,” Ignis confirms. “You’re 30 years old, you are my dearest husband, and we’re home, back in Insomnia once again.”

“30, Ignis, Insomnia. Got it,” Noctis says, shutting his eyes as if to seal the information away. When he opens them again, Ignis is relieved to note the darkness that had been edging into his expression is fading away.

“That’s the sum of it yes.”

Apparently satisfied, Noctis says nothing more, merely pulling Ignis down to continue their waking rituals.

When the door clicks open, they’re too thoroughly engaged with each other to notice.

Someone coughs politely and they both jump. Ignis disengages his teeth from the reddened patch upon Noct’s throat, irritation rising as he sits up to face the intruder, mindful to pull the loose blanket over Noct’s exposed torso. Noctis shoots him an amused glance as he props himself onto his elbow, running an embarrassed hand through his messy black hair.

“Pardon me for the interruption, Your Majesty, Your Grace.” The man bows low, a rare, perfect angle for conveying apology and regret. Having grown up learning the manners of attendants, Ignis assesses the action out of habit, his lip curling when he finds no fault.

Now that the new world is re-establishing under the rule of a monarch, the people are slowly remembering the old customs. Not that Noctis has ever minded the lack of them. He’d likely settle for a high-five if the citizens asked.

“Breakfast is nearly ready.”

“Sorry Finnian. We’ll be out soon,” Noctis says.

“Of course. If you would both excuse me, Your Majesty, Your Grace.” Finnian nods neatly and takes his leave, the door falling shut behind him.

“You would think a closed door would mean _something_ ,” Ignis mutters once the footsteps fade away. The mood is decidedly ruined.

“Give him a break, maybe _sleeping in_ is unheard of in Tenebrae,” Noctis says, eyebrow raised so that Ignis catches onto his double meaning. “And well, we did ask for a wake-up call after all the bad habits we’ve developed last month.”

Ignis would scoff, but he’s distracted by the way that Noctis stretches his arms above his head, his wide yawn as he swings his legs to sit upon the edge of the bed. He blinks sleepily back at Ignis, his dark hair catching the morning light, and suddenly, Ignis is reminded of dusty, grey curtains and the sound of the sea outside their window.

“I’ve heard no complaints from you.” Ignis presses a wistful kiss onto Noct’s bare shoulder. “It’s nice to be home, but I miss our mornings at the Cape. Just the two of us.”

Noctis sighs. “Yeah. It was perfect. Especially for fishing.”

Rolling his eyes, Ignis pretends to pull away before he’s stopped short by Noct’s hand on his wrist, thumb gently tracing his pulse. “Hey. Getting to sleep in with my husband was pretty great too.”

It had been perfect. Now, back within the midst of the bustling rebuilding efforts of the crown city and the demands of the people, it’s hard to believe they’d been enjoying their private seaside honeymoon merely a few days ago.

Cape Caem had been witness to the first days of their marriage. They’d spent their time together in the peaceful quiet of the old safehouse, sharing every meal, cultivating the garden, fishing from the shore, and breaking in the bed – in addition to numerous other surfaces.

They made up for lost time. Mornings turned into nights as Ignis relearnt what it meant to have his hands on Noctis, to have Noctis touch and want him in return. His life’s focus has always been trained in Noct’s direction, but it had been addicting to have Noct’s attentions all to himself for once. Uninterrupted by the world.

The world that they must face now.

“Would you like the first shower, Your Majesty?”

The corner of Noctis’ mouth curves upward upon the use of his title, and he drops the clothes into another unfortunate heap on the ground. “Maybe you should join me.”

Heart skipping, Ignis pretends to pause even as his eyes eagerly follow the nude form of his husband as he crosses the room. There won’t be a time when the sight of Noctis doesn’t summon the fire within his veins.

“I suppose it would be more economical if I did.”

“Well _come on_ , then,” Noctis calls from the bathroom. “We don’t want to keep the kingdom waiting.”

0-0-0

Ignis hums happily to himself as he emerges from the royal suite three quarters of an hour later, looking forward to his first cup of coffee for the day. Even throughout the long night, he hadn’t managed to quell the habit, though the dried coffee grounds didn’t carry the same sharp notes after a few years.

He stops short, his satisfied smile faltering at the sight of Finnian standing by the breakfast table.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Finnian greets with another bow, his Tenebraen blond curls look nearly white in the sunlight shining through the tall windows of the sitting room. The younger man is smartly dressed as usual, clad in the typical black vest and white shirt combination that Citadel attendants typically wore.

“Good morning, Finnian,” Ignis says, passing him as he heads to the private kitchen. “His Majesty has requested a cup of tea with his breakfast, I shall return in a moment with it - ”

“Ah, no need, Your Grace,” Finnian says, stepping aside to reveal two cups upon the small round table, steam drifting from each dark surface. “I’ve already prepared some tea for His Majesty, and a cup of ebony for yourself.”

Ignis pauses. “That’s quite thoughtful of you, but His Majesty prefers his tea with some honey and vanilla - ”

Finnian nods. “Yes, I made sure to mix in a teaspoon of honey. And a few drops of vanilla, of course.”

“… of course.” Now that Ignis is closer, he _can_ smell the hint of vanilla wafting from the table.

Finnian pulls one of the chairs back, looking at Ignis with polite expectation. Lacking any reason to deny him, Ignis nods stiffly as he sits down. In the wake of their marriage, Ignis’ new royal status is perplexing. It’s strange to have people fuss over _him_. Stranger still to have someone else anticipate Noctis’ needs ahead of Ignis.

Discomfort flutters in his gut. Growing up, Noctis had become uncomfortable having others in his personal space, ultimately driving him to move out of the Citadel and away from the parade of attendants.

When he’d moved to the apartment, the only person he’d kept at his side was Ignis. It’d been admittedly less than ideal for _Ignis_ at the time, given his numerous duties, but lost in his own feelings for the prince, Ignis had eagerly taken the opportunity to become Noct’s sole provider. If he could not hold Noctis close, or steal kisses from his lips, then he’d resolved to demonstrate his love in his own way. _His_ way…

“Not to worry, Your Grace. I’ve left your coffee black,” Finnian prompts when Ignis doesn’t reach for his cup.

“Right. Thank you,” Ignis says, curling his fingers around the warm, porcelain handle, hoping the coffee will ease the unsettled feeling in his stomach.

“Breakfast will be served shortly,” Finnian says, returning to his attentive stance at the tableside.

Noctis enters the room a moment later, black hair damp and curling at his neck. _It’s getting long again,_ Ignis thinks, though his fingers itch to touch. Perhaps, he can play barber tomorrow, lead Noctis into a chair and wrap a sheet over his shoulders. Cutting a few inches shorter wouldn’t hurt.

“Your Majesty,” Finnian says, repeating his greeting as he rushes to pull out the other chair for Noctis. Once seated, sniffing curiously at his cup, then sighing with contentment after his first sip.

“This is great.”

If it hadn’t been for his training, Ignis is sure that Finnian would be beaming. Instead, he gives a perfectly demure _thank you, Majesty_ that annoys Ignis even more, humming nonchalantly as his grip on his own cup tightens.

A kitchen attendant arrives with their breakfast shortly afterwards, filling up the small table with fresh fruit slices, yogurt, and butter croissants while Finnian relays their schedules for the day.

“You have a meeting with Commander Cor in the conference hall regarding the latest relief efforts, and a few diplomats from Altissia are requesting an audience…”

All details that Ignis had already known, his mind wandering as he begins to tune the boy out.

_Boy_. As if Finnian isn’t only a few years younger than he and Noct. It’s hard to believe that this fresh-faced and eager to please man had also survived ten years of night. He’d likely benefitted from the remaining haven magics surrounding the battered kingdom of the Oracle.

Finnian had been uniformed and ready to meet Ignis and Noctis soon after they’d disembarked from the repurposed magitek airship returning them from Cape Caem. Apparently, he’d been sent by Ravus as a wedding present of sorts.

A highly trained attendant from House Fleuret sent to work as their personal assistant. The gift is likely more for Ignis’ sake than Noctis’. Possibly to help lighten his workload as he transitions from the role of Advisor to that of Consort. In King Regis’ time, it may have been seen as an attempt at royal espionage, but Noctis waved it away, citing his trust in Ravus’ intentions.

So far, Finnian’s been flawlessly polite, dedicated, and highly efficient – everything you’d expect from someone within the service of a royal family.

And yet… Ignis can’t help but have misgivings.

The table shifts as Noctis stands, interrupting Ignis’ train of thought. Noctis’ plate is now clear, save for a few croissant flakes. Finnian is standing attentively again, apparently having finished reviewing the day’s events. Ignis quickly takes a sip from his cooling cup and pushes his chair back as well.

“You don’t have to rush,” Noctis says, placing a reassuring hand on Ignis’ shoulder. “Stay and finish your coffee, I have to talk to Prompto before the meeting anyway.”

And then, right in front of Finnian and the staff attending their breakfast, Noctis leans down to lay a vanilla-laced kiss upon Ignis’ lips. Mind stalling, any form of Ignis’ protest is quashed beneath the casual affection.

Ignis blinks, dazedly catching the glint of the ring on Noct’s finger. A shameless part of him is shouting, _yes, that’s my husband_. They can kiss any time they’d like because they’re married.

“I’ll see you later, Specs.”

Ignis catches Noctis by the hand before he escapes, brushing his lips against the curve of those beloved knuckles. “Soon, love.”

He floats on the grin that Noctis gifts him with before he departs, ignoring that unsettled feeling rising in his throat when Finnian excuses himself as well, following close behind.

0-0-0

With the return of the sun and Noct’s life stolen back from the Astrals, falling together had been as simple as Noctis tapping Ignis on the shoulder and pulling him down for a kiss.

There was no reason to wait, no patience left in Ignis. Ten years of night and the threat of losing Noctis forever had been enough. He sought the only claim he’d truly cared for, to cement his love and place at Noct’s side. The rest had fallen into place.

Relief efforts meant prioritizing shelter and food supply for the people, so Noctis had decided to leave rebuilding the Citadel for last. Their wedding had been a non-extravagant affair, held upon the broken steps of the Citadel’s throne room, sunlight streaming directly through the ruined walls as Ignis held onto Noctis’ hands. Alive at his side.

It had been perfect.

Today, those walls are covered in ashen tarps as the architects slowly begin to work on restoration. At least the shining marble steps are intact, the ground free of debris and broken glass. Soon it will be returned to its former glory, all the same as it had been before with the exception of the highest landing, where two thrones now sit, ready for the reigning royal couple.

The throne room hasn’t housed a second seat since Noctis’ mother, Queen Aulea had passed away. And now, the honour belongs to Ignis.

As the final visiting diplomat of the morning takes their leave, Noctis slumps over, looking to Ignis with his chin resting upon his propped-up fist. The elegant, curved horn of his crown shines above the shell of his ear.

“That had been quite kind of you, Your Majesty,” Ignis says softly.

Noctis shrugs and glances away, but his tone remains resolute. “We don’t have a choice. They needed our help.”

_No choice_. A burst of warm fondness blooms behind Ignis’ ribs. Noctis has never been able to resist the call of people in need.

“Besides,” Noctis continues, azure gaze shifting back to capture Ignis within their depths. “Your plan to move glaives into that area makes it all possible.”

Ignis smiles at the acknowledgement. It had taken some negotiation but he will always find a way for Noct.

“We simply make a good team, love. What do you say to lunch?”

Noctis sits up. “Finally!”

Ignis offers Noctis his arm, and he laughs as he accepts. They descend the stairs together, Ignis taking care to step slowly to alleviate the strain upon Noct’s knee.

“Treating me like an old man already. What are the people going to think?”

“I imagine they’re going to be grateful their King isn’t tripping over his own feet and falling down two flights of stairs.”

“That’d be quite the downfall.”

“And you say my puns are insufferable.”

Noctis doesn’t let go of his arm when they reach the final step, and so they continue arm-in-arm as the guardsmen hold the large double doors open for them. “Maybe you’re a bad influence.”

Ignis’ planned rejoinder is lost as Noctis breaks into a brisk walk without relinquishing Ignis’ hand.

“Noct! Your knee!” Noctis only throws a grin over his shoulder, and suddenly they’re off, the robes catching around Ignis’ legs as he tries to match Noct’s pace. It’s nostalgic, the two of them running through the halls together like they had as a young prince and advisor. They leave the amused guards and newly polished halls behind, turning down empty passages and into the ruins of the hall of history.

“Please slow down,” Ignis says, wary of the remaining rubble littering the grounds from the final battle. Noctis’ foot catches over a broken column and Ignis catches him before he can fall. Noctis bursts into giggles first, and Ignis joins him, their laughter echoing through the large chamber.

The chamber looks unchanged since the series of final battles for the dawn. Paintings are missing from the walls; shattered frames lie upon the ground surrounded by glass. The two of them are stopped in front of the vast north wall, and the broken prophecy depicted across it. The oracle shining above the Chosen King, surrounded by light. Ignis’ attention moves to the three companions, one of them scarred and kneeling at the king’s side. Noctis is silent for a moment, contemplating the crumbling mural of a destiny overturned. Sunlight pours defiantly through the jagged split of concrete, but the sight of the chosen king offered up to the gods as his faithful glaives stand by still makes Ignis’ chest tighten.

He’d been glad when Noctis had decided not to restore the hall, only too happy to leave this twisted part of their history behind.

“Noct?” Ignis tentatively squeezes Noct’s hand, stepping forward until they’re shoulder to shoulder, catching the profile of Noctis’ frown. Noctis turns to him then, staring back with a sudden intensity, and Noct’s thumb rubs warm, teasing circles across the back of Ignis’ hand. And as easy as that, heat begins to smoulder within Ignis’ veins.

There’s a different sort of urgency between them as Ignis is promptly dragged out of the hall and into an empty office, the door slamming shut behind them. Ignis’ back hits the wall and he reaches out in turn to drag Noctis in by the collar of his kingly raiment.

He’s lost in the swirl of emotions within deep blue eyes, his voice low as he draws Noct’s face to his, feeling the heat of Noct’s breath upon his lips. “I don’t believe _I’m_ the bad influence here.”

“Oh, but you are,” Noctis murmurs. Noct’s hand travels from Ignis’ collar and slides slowly to press firmly between his legs. Ignis instinctively pushes his hips upward to meet the touch. “Rubbing off on me.”

“That – oh - that was absolutely awful. You shouldn’t be rewarded for that,” Ignis says, breath hitching as Noctis presses closer.

The King sinks to his knees, and the air disappears from the room as he traces the delicate tip of his nose along the bulge beneath Ignis’ dark consort robe.

“Then don’t come – ” Noct glances upward, daring, “ _\- Your Majesty._ ”

It knocks the breath out of Ignis, his tone sending shivers up and down his spine. They both know Noctis is going to get what he wants.

Soon enough, Noct has Ignis’ robes parted, setting himself to task with new knowledge gleaned from their honeymoon, determined to take Ignis apart with every hard suck and wicked tongue twist in his repertoire.

His hands come down, tracing the smooth curve of the crown nestled above the shell of Noct’s ear, heat and arousal spiking at the reminder. That’s his _king_ on his knees. He’s lost, powerful and powerless as pleasure overtakes him. Fingers find purchase within black strands and Ignis tugs, pulling Noctis in until the hot clutch of his throat flutters around his length. It’s not long until he comes loudly, moans muffled by his own fist, knees buckling and his entire body folded over Noctis as he clings to his shoulders for support. Meanwhile, Noctis drinks him down in that eager, obliging way he’s learned leaves Ignis weak and utterly ruined.

“ _Oh,_ Noctis. Love, I –” Ignis shudders, blinking through tears, and gasping for breath.

Trembling and oversensitive, Ignis pants as Noctis finally allows him to slip from between those heavenly lips. Their harsh breathing fills the room, hidden as they are amongst tarp-covered furniture and broken panes of glass. Ignis sinks back against the wall as Noctis rises to his feet, grateful for the way Noct’s arms wrap around his waist, supportive, perfect.

Noctis tucks his head beneath Ignis’ chin, soft hair tickling Ignis’ throat. Ignis shifts his thigh between Noct’s legs, discovering his king hard and wanting.

That won’t do. Ignis reaches down, but Noctis shakes his head.

“No, it’s - it’s okay.”

“Noct…?”

Noctis’ shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh before he speaks again, words warm and muffled against Ignis’ skin. “It’s okay. _Later_ , for sure, but right now I’m – I just need.”

The tremor in his voice gives him away, and Ignis envelopes Noctis within his arms immediately. “It’s alright. You’re here with me. This is real.”

Another shuddering breath, Noctis clinging tightly to him. But Ignis doesn’t mind playing anchor.

“Yeah… yeah.”

Minutes pass, footsteps echoing outside their hideaway, voices approach and fade down the hall.

Ignis rubs soothing circles into Noctis’ back as Noct’s fingers settle upon his hips. They’d spent a few afternoons just like this at the Cape, huddled together on the floor of the lighthouse as Noctis gathered himself.

The marks of their final battle are nearly gone, but some scars are taking longer to heal.

Noctis had only been able to talk about his time in the crystal in broken, halting sentences. The trials he’d endured, the twisted passage of time and Bahamut’s constant, omnipotent presence. His _episodes_ catch him mid-laughter, about to cast his line, or stiffening within Ignis’ arms as that haunted shade darkens his eyes and he slips away, like a bookmark losing its place between the pages.

If he could, Ignis would make Bahamut pay ten times over.

“Sorry,” Noctis says, averting his gaze. “Kind of a mood killer.”

Ignis traps Noct’s chin between his fingers and places a light kiss upon his lips. “Never.”

Noctis nods shakily but his eyes are present. It’s a good sign.

“Let’s get some food, dear heart. I can make you lunch. The market had fresh chickatrice eggs yesterday, and I’ve been meaning to try the new spices Iris had brought from Lestallum.”

Another nod. “That… that sounds great.”

Ignis refastens the golden clasps that tie his dark robes together. He fixes Noctis’ hair, righting his crown upon his ear as Noctis helps with the last two clasps, snapping them together.

The hallway is thankfully empty when they finally emerge. No one to witness the king and his husband sneaking around like two hormonal teenagers. However, Ignis’ main concern lies in another direction. Noctis is still quiet instead of playful, his expression carefully schooled to hide his lingering anxiety. He holds onto Ignis’ hand as they head for the royal wing, squeezing it every so often.

“If you chop the onions, then I’ll get started on the meat and rice,” Ignis says, leading Noctis into their suites.

“Oh, welcome back, Your Majesty, Your Grace. I’d prepared lunch earlier, but I’m afraid it’s gotten cold. I can re-warm your food, I hope that it remains to your liking.” Finnian holds an empty tray, beckoning them to the table.

Beside him, Noctis shoots Ignis an apologetic look. The tentative mood between them diffusing in the presence of another as Noctis forces himself to smile past the remaining shadows. “That’s fine. Sorry we’re late.”

Stiffly, Ignis follows Noctis to the table, where Finnian seats them once more.

Freshly cooked rice and grilled barramundi are at the centre of the various dishes spread upon the table – Noctis’ favourite after the chickatrice thigh and egg rice bowl that Ignis had been planning to make.

“Thank you. It looks delicious.” A bit of colour has returned to Noct’s cheeks, and he’s already eagerly eying the fish.

“Please enjoy.”

Ignis offers his thanks as well despite his own soured mood. He samples the dish and it _is_ delicious. He tries and fails not to watch Noctis shovel down the food with gusto, the light in his eyes gradually returning with every bite.

Nagging bitterness makes itself known once more, but Ignis passes it over in favour of Noctis’ slowly widening smile.

0-0-0

Ignis’ afternoon is filled with reports and more reports. He takes comfort in the familiarity of the work, reading through the progress of Cleigne and Duscae’s recovery efforts. Beneath those papers are the missives to be sent to ambassadors from Altissia, all seeking audiences with himself or Noctis now that they’ve returned to Insomnia. Even becoming prince consort hasn’t spared him from the mundanity of paperwork, but never has the sight of his own signature made his heart skip like a love-flushed schoolboy.

He signs the final pages with a flourish, his pen shaping _Ignis Lucis Caelum_ in flowing cursive, standing out from the rest of the text in shining black ink. Thankfully, there’s no one around to see his foolishly pleased smile as he regards the swoops and curves of his new name. A familiar, exhilarating urge blossoms in his chest, and Ignis glances hopefully at the door ensconced between two bookshelves on the eastern wall of his office. Unlike the room’s grand double door entrance, _this_ door leads to directly into Noctis’ office, and the convenient access has so far been thoroughly abused by the current monarch.

Not that Ignis has complaints.

Today, however, it has been silent. Not a single knock or call from the other side. Not even any hastily scribbled love notes slipped underneath the door; Ignis is diligent in snatching those up before anyone discovers the explicit requests their king shamelessly delights in penning to rile up his husband.

This time, Ignis is the one who knocks, but merely to be polite. The door is never locked, and the handle turns easily in his hold. The office of the king is mostly a mirror of his own, bookcases lining the walls, a large desk at the head of the room, in front of the large windows overlooking Insomnia. There are signs of Noctis everywhere, the fishing rod stashed in the corner, the portrait of Regis and Aulea hanging above the fireplace mantle, the collection of trinkets upon the desk that Ignis recognizes from Regis’ time. Ignis sighs when he sees the mountain of paperwork awaiting Noctis’ attention, placed next to the small frame containing a charred, tattered photograph: four friends, young, smiling, and whole, standing in front of the black gleam of the Regalia.

The chair behind the desk sits empty, and even the lounge chair is disappointingly devoid of the king. Odd. There hadn’t been any meetings scheduled, and Ignis usually accompanies Noctis to the throne room.

_Where are you?_ Ignis types into his phone.

_Cit. square! Market!_ comes the reply a moment later.

It takes twenty minutes to find Noctis, outside in the Citadel’s plaza, surrounded by bustling construction workers and glaives. He and Noctis agreed to make the area into a functional market, a hub where the people can acquire goods easily, similar to Lestallum’s set up. It makes sense, as the only path cleared through the city leads directly to the Citadel, the former markets and shopping districts still besieged with rubble.

The knees of Noctis’ pants are covered in dust and mortar as he arranges the stone slabs lining the square. Ignis appreciates the view, the way Noctis’ dark hair falls forward over his handsome face, his husband’s shirt sleeves rolled up as he works alongside his people. Completely disregarding the state of his attire, as usual.

“Your Grace!” a few people call out, some stopping to bow as they pass by carrying various equipment.

Finnian is there as well, looking out of place in his spotless uniform, Noctis’ raiment folded neatly in his hands as he hovers near the edge of the rushing crowd. He sees Ignis before Noctis does, bowing as he announces Ignis’ arrival. Noctis finally looks up then, smiling sheepishly as he stands with a futile attempt to brush away the debris from his clothes.

“Hey,” says his dusty king.

There’s more of an audience than Ignis wanted, but the exhilaration in his chest demands satisfaction and drives him forward until he’s holding Noct’s face between his hands, leaning down to press their lips together.

He ignores the smatter of catcalling in favour of deepening the kiss, Noctis clutching onto Ignis’ forearms as they exchange breath and affections.

There’s dust covering the front of his robes by the time they break apart.

“Hello,” he says. “I see you’ve taken up a new hobby.”

“Don’t worry, my workmanship quality is being supervised. Your Grace’s square will be free of crooked tiles.”

“As it should be,” Ignis says, his smile belying his serious tone. “Do you require any assistance? You’re staying hydrated?” The area is open to the force of the afternoon sun.

“ _Yes, dear_. Finnian’s got me on a strict water schedule,” Noctis says, rolling his eyes. On cue, Finnian appears with a water flask, and Noctis tips his head back to drink from it, throwing a longsuffering look to Ignis to prove his point.

“We’ll be wrapping up for the day before the sun really starts beating down. Why don’t you take Finnian with you? He’s bored here.”

Finnian looks aghast. “Your Majesty, I must assure you - !”

“He’s _so bored_ , Ignis. You have to take him away.”

Ignis manages to keep a maelstrom of emotions from his face as he agrees. He sighs as Noctis presses a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

With one last glance at Noctis, covered in sweat and dust, Ignis leads Finnian away from the plaza. As he reaches the height of the stairs, his phone buzzes with a new message:

_Did you really come out to the plaza just to kiss me? ; )_

0-0-0

Finnian continues to be a constant presence. He’s always a step behind Noctis in the halls, leaning down to whisper in his ear during the council meetings.

He’s the first person to greet them when they step outside their bedchamber, personally preparing or overseeing meals for them, interrupting their time alone.

Noctis takes all of it in stride, and besides all that, he _likes_ Finnian.

“He’s doing pretty good, don’t you think? We’ll have to let Ravus know.” Noctis had looked pleased, reclining on the chaise, with his legs stretched out across Ignis’ lap.

“Indeed.” The terse agreement is all Ignis can muster, barely sparing a glance from the unread page of his open book.

“It’s a big job. I didn’t think anyone could keep up with it like you had.”

From knowing Noctis his entire life, from seeing the fond smile on his face, Ignis knows that had meant to be praise. A compliment and an apology for the burden Noctis believed had been placed on Ignis’ shoulders. But he can’t deny the strike to his heart.

It’s not that Ignis can fault Finnian for his dedication. While they prefer to attend meetings and make decisions together, Ignis’ new duties demand his attention, taking him away from Noctis’ side. He’s well aware that the shift in his role to royal consort has left an empty space in the king’s party that needed to be filled. Several empty spaces.

It doesn’t stop his frustration, the flare of his irrational fear of being replaced.

Ignis’ thinning patience finally snaps the day Finnian asks him about ‘the pastry recipe that His Majesty likes.’ He nearly dismisses Finnian outright, barely restraining himself from ordering the boy back to Tenebrae.

Luckily, Prompto and Gladio decide to spend that evening in the Citadel, a much needed distraction to keep Noctis from sensing his blackening mood.

“No! Really?”

“Yes, it snapped in half. He fell in right afterwards. It was quite a sight.”

“That definitely brings back memories,” Gladio says, lounging back on the couch.

“Yeah, laugh it up. I would’ve landed it for sure if you’d been there, big guy.”

“I knew you only wanted me for my body.”

Noctis snorts, and Prompto throws one of the chaise’s intricately decorated throw pillows across the room. It catches Gladio square in the face, mid-flex and all, and the four of them burst out laughing. The cushion lands somewhere behind the console table. Ignis takes another sip of his wine, making a mental note to pick it up afterwards.

The whole scene echoes strongly of other rooms long-ago, in dusty, in-between towns, the four of them gathered around a rickety coffee table before turning in for the night.

“So, it got away?” Prompto asks, rubbing that ridiculous patch of chin hair he insists on keeping.

“Yeah,” Noctis says with an easygoing shrug. His cheeks are already flush with drink. “Lives to swim another day.”

“Aw, sorry bud.”

“Nah, it’s okay. Caught something better that night,” Noctis says, nudging Ignis with his elbow.

“You’re ridiculous,” Ignis laughs and angles his face upwards anyway, warmth diffusing from his chest as their lips meet.

Noctis really had been quite a sight, standing on the beach, drenched from head to toe, the wild strands of his dark hair falling into his eyes, plastered against his cheek. Ignis remembers his bashful grin as he’d thrown his broken fishing rod aside and laughed, meeting Ignis’ gaze even as his prize disappeared into deeper waters.

He remembers the way his pale skin glowed beneath the moonlight as Ignis had peeled away the damp, clinging layers of his clothes.

Noctis’ desperate gasps had been Ignis’ personal siren song that night.

Prompto coughs loudly when they don’t pull away. In retaliation, Ignis keeps Noctis in place with a gentle hand behind his neck. Public displays of affection were never his suit, but when Prompto groans dramatically about how they’ve become one of _those_ couples, he can’t help it. Teasing their friends is too fun.

When they finally do part, Ignis is gratified as Noctis snuggles in close, leaning his head against Ignis’ shoulder.

Gladio rolls his eyes and shares a long-suffering look with Prompto. “Thought the honeymoon was over.”

“Never,” Noctis says, rubbing his cheek against Ignis like a smug cat. “Have you seen how hot my husband is?”

_That_ makes Ignis flush. He reaches over and eases Noct’s glass out of his hand’s precarious hold, noting the shallow splash of red wine remaining at the bottom. It certainly accounts for the heat radiating from Noctis’ cheeks. At this rate, he’ll surely fall asleep soon.

“I’m afraid I must take the King to bed.”

“Yeah,” Noctis says, throwing his arms around Ignis’ neck. Ever helpful. “Go away now.”

Another groan from their friends. “Come on, let us get out the door before you start going at it?”

“Geez, can’t believe we ever shared a tent with you guys.”

“I’ll just be a moment, gentleman. And you, off to bed now.” Ignis sweeps a pliant Noctis into his arms, who laughs in tipsy delight, ducking his face into.

“We’re timing you,” Gladio calls out. Ignis turns back and is the recipient of two, surprisingly sober looks above Noctis’ head, before Ignis turns on his heel and carries him over the threshold of their bedroom. He sighs. When he’d done this on their first night at the Cape, he’d been the one intoxicated, drunk off the taste of Noctis’ lips, his soft skin.

He lowers Noctis onto the bed. Noct sighs and fumbles his buttons, casting hopeful glances upwards.

“Whatever would you do without me?” Ignis shakes his head, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt and ridding him of his pants, leaving the King in his black boxers. Despite the heat of Insomnia’s summer night, Noctis crawls under the blankets, happily snuggling into his cocoon of sheets, his pink cheeks cradled between the fabric.

A grown man shouldn’t be so adorable. Ignis is truly loathe to leave him to face the conversation Prompto and Gladio no doubt have in store for him.

“Join me,” the King whines.

“Soon, dear heart. I must take care of our company.” Noct’s eyelids droop even as his expression scrunches into a pout. Ignis is certain he’ll be asleep by the time he steps away.

“Take care… Yeah. You take good care of me, Iggy.”

“Always.” Ignis reaffirms his oath with a soft kiss upon Noct’s brow.

“Mm.. – you,” comes the sleepy mumble.

Ignis smiles. “Me too, Majesty.”

Prompto and Gladio have set their wine glasses down by the time Ignis returns, the jovial, easy-going atmosphere replaced with the firm, serious glances across the table. They’d had to hold similar conferences during the past ten years, usually when one of them had been particularly careless. Ignis had been the focus of the circle more than once.

Dreading the conversation, Ignis takes his seat.

This time it’s Prompto who starts.

“So… we heard what happened with Finnian.”

“I think half the Citadel heard _that_.”

“What happened Iggy? He seemed nice. He was probably just trying to be helpful.”

“Yes, well, perhaps I don’t require his help to care for my husband. He was overstepping.”

There’s another exchange of looks, this time between Gladio and Prompto.

Gladio sighs. “Look, we’re not going to ask for details. But the truth is, you’ve never been good at accepting new people around Noctis.”

Ignis bristles. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Remember when he first made friends with chocobo-lover over here?”

Prompto coughs, but his eyes remain blameless. “That’s different. And Ignis warmed up to me eventually.”

“Same thing with this Finnian taking over though. You act like he’s coming for your job or something.” Gladio reaches for his glass once more.

“It’s not my job that I’m concerned for. And I’m not jealous. As far as I know, Finnian doesn’t hold any intentions for Noctis.”

“Sure. But you’re getting territorial about it anyway. You’re not supposed to be bothered with preparing lunch or cleaning his room anymore. You’re prince consort now. You can’t tell me you miss waiting on the brat.”

Irritation makes Ignis snap out. “I’m well aware of that.”

Gladio levels a steady look his way, one that Ignis recognizes from when he’s training the glaive recruits.

“Come on, Ignis… You don’t actually define your relationship with Noct by what you do for him right?” Prompto asks. “You should talk to him. If something’s really bothering you, you guys can figure it out.”

An old fear renews its gnawing within the pit of his stomach. Growing up, he’d been terrified of failure, of being found _wanting_ , aware that a single word from the King Regis could dissolve any ties Ignis had to the prince. He’d been determined to excel, to serve in the fullest capacity so his role in Noct’s life would not be questioned or usurped.

Over the years, the fear of being cast aside had abated with every warm smile, every casual call for _Specs_ , and then, every kiss.

Now, he wears the vow of Noct’s love and devotion around his finger.

And yet…

“It’s such a ridiculous thing to be bothered about. Logically, I know that I can’t fulfill my duties as they had been before. I’d always hoped to be by his side, but I’d never planned for… Prince consort was never my aspiration.”

As someone who has survived the near end of the world, and married the love of his life, it’s foolish how easily prior insecurities have returned to plague him.

“You’re about a royal wedding and a honeymoon too late to panic about that!” Prompto laughs.

“I suppose it’s all caught up with me now, after seeing someone take up my old duties.” He doesn’t dare say _replaced_ out loud.

“Listen… he needs you. But maybe not in the ways we’d been taught.” The solemn look in Gladio’s eyes speak of experience. “The world is different now and being married is a whole new battlefield.”

Ignis nods. No matter how foolish he feels, this won’t be resolved without speaking with Noctis. He sighs deeply, fighting a smile as he regards his friends.

“Things really have changed this last decade if I’m accepting relationship advice from the two of you.”

Gladio scoffs, while Prompto jumps up in protest. “Hey! Don’t be mean. I’ve totally levelled up on wisdom these past few years.”

“I don’t believe growing a goatee nets you wisdom points.”

Prompto’s hands fly over his mouth in an affronted gasp. “Mean!”

“If he’s sassing us, then he’s good. Talk to the kid. It’ll work out, Iggy.” Gladio holds up his glass, and Prompto joins him. The two of them grin at Ignis expectantly.

“Very well,” Ignis says, finally tipping his own glass against theirs to complete the toast, grateful for their company.

0-0-0

“Your Grace!” Finnian bursts into Ignis’ office, the door flying open. He’s never seen the boy look so panicked, his wide eyes and reddened face far from the neutral composure he typically wears.

“Finnian, what on Eos - ”

“Please, it’s His Majesty – he’s - ”

Ignis is on his feet in an instant.

“Take me to him,” he says, striding out of the office.

“He’s in the east wing,” Finnian calls out as Ignis outpaces him. The east wing is still untouched by the restoration efforts, nothing left – except the Hall of History.

Many questions fly through Ignis’ mind. What would Noctis be doing _there_?

“I wanted to call the medic but he didn’t want – he kept asking for you,” Finnian pants somewhere behind Ignis. They descend the stairs and cross the great hall, Ignis rushing past glaives patrolling the halls. “He was quiet for a while, and then he started gasping for air. I tried to call but- they wouldn’t go through.”

“The towers are undergoing maintenance,” Ignis says, recalling the permits that had passed across his desk the other day.

He only runs faster.

They find Noctis slumped against the broken wall, curled up and weakly trying to wave off the frantic crowd of attendants surrounding him.

“Step aside,” Finnian says as they approach, as firm as any of the Marshall’s commands.

The attendants part for Ignis, and he rushes forward, kneeling down at Noct’s side. Those deep ocean blue eyes dart in every direction before they finally latch onto Ignis, wide and lost. Noctis reaches out and Ignis grasps his hand immediately, clutching tight.

“…Ignis?” He manages an unsteady intake of air before it devolves into short, panicking gasps.

“I’m here.” He senses the attendants close in around them, Noctis grip tightening around Ignis’ forearms.

“Finnian, clear the room,” Ignis says, not taking his eyes off Noct. He holds his cheek, smooths back black hair, drawing blue eyes towards him as the Finnian gives orders and footsteps fade away.

“Noctis. You’re alright, dear heart. Slow your breaths, breathe with me.”

He holds Noctis close against his chest, breathing in slow and deep so that Noctis can feel the rise and fall of his every breath. Fingers dig deep into Ignis’ arm, sharp even through the thick fabric of his sleeves. He’s not sure what visions are playing upon Noctis’ mind, but he curses them anyway. The faint mumble of _30, Ignis, Insomnia_ is muttered over and over, along with _stop, where am I, why, why, why_.

Ignis’ heart wrenches to see those eyes so haunted, to hear his voice tremble with such pain. He’s seen it as children when Noctis was plagued with nightmares after the marilith, after the invasion of Insomnia. The delicate pieces of the boy he loved falling apart in front of him.

They huddle on the floor together, Ignis rubbing steady circles into Noctis’ back, breathing for both of them, waiting for Noctis to come back to him.

Their breaths sync, slowly. Ignis swallows around the lump in his throat when the Noctis finally relaxes into his embrace. He leans back against the wall, Noctis still within his hold, heart pounding rapidly in Ignis’ chest.

“Sorry,” Noctis says, voice rasped with guilt.

Ignis squeezes his hand. “There’s no need to apologize.”

“Coming here was a bad idea.”

Ignis hesitates for a moment, before asking. “Why did you come here?”

“I’m so sick of these attacks, the confusion, the visions. Thought I could face Bahamut’s prophecy head on and finally convince myself – they didn’t happen. Won’t happen. No matter what he told me.”

“Is it really so unbelievable that I could save you?” Ignis asks, heart heavy. It’s a jest at its core, but Noctis surges up to meet his gaze.

“No. You’re the only thing I _can_ believe in,” he says fiercely. “And you deserve more than a broken husband and King.”

“Please don’t,” Ignis says, sorrow tightening his voice. “You’re not broken, Noctis. You’re _healing_.”

“You’ve said that to me before.”

“And I will always be here to remind you.”

“ _Always_ … always so focused on making sure I’m okay. But what about you?” Frustration lines Noct’s voice.

“What do you mean, Noct?”

Noctis merely looks at him.

He never imagined they would have this conversation lying on the floor of the Hall of History.

“I do admit that ten years in a daemon-infested land wasn’t easy… especially not knowing if we could find a way to avert your fate. However, I cannot bring myself to linger on those days. The outcome was more than I could hope for.”

“You have to tell me about it – if something bothers you.”

“I will,” Ignis swears. Noctis smiles at him, and Ignis feels glad to have made the promise. That is, until Noctis asks his next question.

“Good… So, will you also tell me why you’re upset with Finnian?”

Guilt and shame flickers through him. “Ah. You’ve noticed.”

“I’ve known you my whole life. I can read your danger aura.”

“I _do not_ have a danger aura.”

“You do! Remember when I accidentally started that garula stampede and we had to hide, and your clothes ended up soaked in mud? Or when Gladio forgot the case of Ebony back at the haven?”

“…no.”

Ignis does remember. But that’s beside the point.

“Heh, sure,” Noctis says with a knowing grin. “Come on. Spill it, Specs.”

This is the part Ignis hates the most, the edge of vulnerability that comes with revealing his shameful irrationality. He’s meant to be Noctis’ foundation, a source of logic and collectedness. Even with the reassurance from his friends the night before, he still finds himself pausing.

Ignis considers dodging the question, suggesting they retreat to their rooms for the sake of comfort. He knows Noctis wouldn’t force him to answer if he truly refused.

Noctis squeezes his hand, looking back at him with such gentle earnestness - even after a panic attack had left him gasping on the floor. This is how Noctis always was. Before the Crystal, before the treaty. That familiar feeling of _home_ washes over him, and Ignis speaks honestly.

“I suppose I felt replaced, in a way. For a long time, I had been the one to look after you.”

“Ignis…” Noctis protests, but then falls silent, waiting for Ignis to continue.

“I had started as your friend, your future advisor, I couldn’t offer you my heart, but I could ensure that you were well-loved. Cooking, cleaning – they’ve never actually been part of my duties. But if it could ease even a small portion of your burden, I’d been happy to do it.”

Ignis sighs, closing his eyes. “Seeing someone take over my former duties in your life, after that had been the only way I could express my love. It… will likely take more time getting used to.”

He feels Noctis nod against his chest before breaking their embrace. Ignis’ eyes open to see Noctis move until they’re nose to nose, blue eyes staring straight into his.

“Ignis… I asked Ravus to send Finnian.”

“ _You_ asked…?” Ignis blinks at Noctis in surprise.

“You have always taken too much onto yourself. And I… I just wanted you to finally have a chance to relax. And enjoy things, and just _be with me_. You know, without worrying if I had a cup of tea within arm’s reach. Or if my schedule has a few conflicts.”

“You’re still my top advisor, I trust your opinion more than anyone else. And you _still_ take care of me… but I’ve never wanted you because of that. You don’t have to do anything to make me happy – around you I just am.”

“Noct…”

“Married or not, replacing you just isn’t possible. Whenever I’m lost… all I can think of is finding you again.”

Ignis blinks back the dampness in his eyes.

“I’m grateful that Finnian came for me.”

“He knows what I need.” Noctis says, squeezing Ignis’ hand tight. “And _you_ should know… if the whole marriage thing didn’t give it away. I want to take care of you too, Ignis.”

Happiness fills Ignis to the brim, until he’s sure he must be glowing with it. He doesn’t know how to tell Noctis that he already has everything he could ever want with him here, surrounded by broken glass and crumbling walls.

Then Ignis thinks of the smell of sea salt on the breeze, and hours of undisturbed evenings watching the sun set with Noctis by his side. Who could deny the royal couple a getaway, an annual vacation if they’d requested it? It’d be good for Noct. It’d be good for _him._ Enjoying the gift of time – enjoying the world they’d fought for. Together.

Sunlight pours in through the walls of broken prophecy and Ignis lifts their entwined hands, pressing his lips to the ring there. The gold shines, catching in the sun as if they wore matching gleams of light.

“I do have one request.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This fic made me want to write all the honeymoon adventures for ignoct, but it was getting so long already. I think I could ramble about their evolving relationship for ages.  
> Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed this or any of my fics, please leave a quick _< 3_  
>   
>  **Twitter** : [@starrynoctsky](https://twitter.com/starrynoctsky)


End file.
